Me and Betsy
by Rebel Goddess
Summary: AU Clark has two great secrets in his life. He's an alien, we know, but what else is he hiding from the world? Smallville's best kept secret is about to be revealed. Extreme silliness in 350 word segments ensues. Completed.
1. Secrets about Secrets about Daydreams

A story in several 350 word segments about Clark's other big secret, written because I was feeling unchallenged. (Bangs head on desk in despair at own stupidity.) So I disclaim. The story's mine, characters in this part aren't. Just borrowing the overseer's whip for some fun. I'm not happy with this, so it may be a fleeting visit to cyber heaven. Expect part 2 shortly unless I realise quite how awful this really is, in which case read faster.  
  
Sorry, this isn't really gripping, but hopefully it gets better. **Made a few little changes â€" there was the odd spelling mistake, etc., but nothing substantial. Still not sure about it.**  
  
Segment 1  
  
Clark Kent has many secrets in his life. He has secrets about secrets. One is deadly. No one can know that he really comes from another planet, an alien with powers so far beyond human capability that Pete once nicknamed him 'super-dude'. Only three people do know this: his adopted parents and his best friend. Three other people in his life are desperate to discover the truth of the enigma that is Clark Kent - Lana Lang, Chloe Sullivan and Lex Luthor. Unfortunately for them, Lex has a megalomaniac father and Luthor blood in his veins, Smallville code for spawn of Satan; Chloe is deeply attracted to anything weird (raising the question why she never wondered if Clark was otherworldly) and a dedicated member of the Free Press; and Lana is too much of an attention seeker to let anything in her life pass by without telling someone about it, and so is incapable of keeping secret something so hugely important as that we are not alone in the Universe.  
  
Clark tells no one else his secret as the wrong person could lead the Government Agents to him and that would be the end of everyone's favourite farm boy's peaceful life. He's seen 'ET', he's seen 'Roswell', he's seen every episode of the 'X-Files', he's seen almost every alien orientated movie and show ever made (Gonzo was his favourite on the Muppets). He knows what happens to aliens caught by the Government. Autopsies while they're still alive. Torture. Pain. The deaths of the people he loves. He'd rather eat meteor rocks than go through that.  
  
So he lies by omission every day of his life. There are so many people he loves and lies to at the same time. No one knows his whole story. Kyla, whom he loved, knew most, but not enough. She died because of it. Now he tells no one. It's too dangerous, for the both of them. He'd love to see Chloe's face when he told her. Another daydream on the shelf. That, and seeing Lex roll on the floor laughing until he can't breathe.


	2. Diary of a Nightingale

I like this one a little better. That means nothing.  
  
I disclaim. If I liked it more, I might try to claim ownership.  
  
PS - Betsy is not a Mary-Sue, at least unless Clark is much weirder than we all thought.  
  
Segment 2  
  
Clark Kent is an alien. We've established this. He's also a liar, but that's hardly hidden. Let's leave it there.  
  
That's just one secret though, and Clark Kent has many. His hidden journal is another. There are entries that would make his Mother cover his Father's eyes, entries that would make even Victoria Hardwick blush and entries that would make Pete whoop. There are little secrets, the same ones most teenagers have: how many girls he'd kissed, how he wishes his Mom wouldn't call him 'baby' in front of others, how big his crush on Judy Garland was when he was twelve, how beautifully sexy he still finds Bonnie Hunt, all average stuff.  
  
The other big secret is the one that concerns us. The one that Clark will never admit to anyone. Not even his Mom. He thinks that it's embarrassing and will make him the focus of too much attention. From the day he first came to them, his parents have taught him to be careful, to be cautious, to tell no-one, and being a good boy with an excellent idea of what will happen to him if doesn't, he listened. Because of this, Clark Kent has secrets from everyone, even them.  
  
Chloe would be astonished and demand an exclusive interview. Lana would tell the whole town. Lex would smirk and calculate. Pete would slap him on the back and tell him that he was full of surprises. His Mom would smile comfortingly and bake something. His Dad would grip his shoulder and start on one of his 'I know best' lectures.  
  
These were all excellent reasons for not telling anyone, but there was another, a more surprising one: In a life full of secrets, when he had to hide the slightest thing he did in case it was considered weird enough to lead to his death, Clark wanted one secret all to himself, shared with no- one, and this was it. However it wasn't to be. The whole world would know the truth very soon. The best kept secret about Clark Kent was very simple. He could sing beautifully.


	3. Bringing the Cows Home Has Never Meant T...

This is when the silliness really starts. If you're taking this seriously, it's more than I am.  
  
I disclaim. I think you'll be able to tell what's mine.  
  
Segment 3  
  
The truth is very simple: Clark Kent had the best singing voice on the planet, a voice that growled and snarled, that gentled and seduced, that gorged the soul with sweetness and soothed the senses with a silken sound. In a moment, someone else will know this, someone unafraid to exploit it.  
  
His name is Mark. In the music industry, he's known as Mark the Mad because of his attitude to publicity. He thinks any news coverage is good news coverage. He's gunged, gored, gelled and groped his clients for coverage. He's prepared to do anything for publicity. Clark Kent, the singing farm boy from Kansas with a background so wholesome that he seemed to be a 1960s' TV creation, will be a God send.  
  
The beginning was very simple - Clark had been singing to Betsy, his favourite of the remaining dairy cows when Mark, his car engine stalled beyond his mending, walked across the field making his way to the farmhouse. Which would have been fine, except the reason that Clark had been singing to Betsy was because she was feeling the Kansas summer heat and was under the weather. She liked to play with Clark, the boy who had hand raised her as a calf, and now she initiated one of her favourite games - Ride The Boy. Occasionally her weight just became too much for her hooves and she made Clark carry her home. Today was one of those times. She nudged him hard in the ribs, and he, taking the hint before she became yet more insistent, put his hands around her and gently hefted her into the air. He turned around and walked, with her in his arms, barely feeling the strain, back to the barn, singing all the way in his melodious voice.  
  
Now, Mark the Mad had heard of cow tipping, but this was frankly ridiculous.  
  
Realising the potential of this, he grinned. In a cartoon, dollar signs would have appeared in his eyes. As this was Smallville, he simply rubbed his hands together gleefully and stalked after the cow carrying crooner. 


	4. Delusions of Meaning

Before I hear yells (hang on, since when did I have readers? Delusions of grandeur again.) I know carrying a cow is much harder than I'm making it seem. Cow tipping is also no joke. Just accept the fact that logic has no place in anything I write here. It will make your brain hurt less when I mess with the rules of the universe. The title will make sense two chapters from now, I hope.  
  
I disclaim. Why exactly would I want this?  
  
Segment 4  
  
Mark the Mad's arrival in the barn had caused Clark to drop the cow on his own foot, and Betsy had mooed pathetically. It hurt her a good deal more than it hurt him. Kind to the depths of his soul, Clark soothed the creature by singing a few soft phrases in her ear of his favourite song of the moment. Then he turned around to see the chubby man was grinning wider than ever. The singing had been ever better than he'd thought.  
  
He had made the boy an offer he couldn't refuse. Clark had stunned him by refusing. He'd doubled his price, but the stubborn fool, strong headed enough to remind Mark of himself, had turned his back on him. Then, with nothing left to lose since his self respect was long gone, he'd made him an offer that involved him not going to the Daily Planet with the news that Kansas farm boys didn't just tip cows, they carried them as if they weighed no more than a sack of hay, suggesting that he had non-existent evidence of this. He added a few well aimed jabs about other things he'd seen the boy do. Finally, Clark finally accepted the record contract.  
  
In celebration, Mark had bitten the end off a thick cigar, shoved it in his mouth and, slinging an arm around the boy's shoulders, announced that in just seven days he would make him a star.  
  
Clearly the boy knew city people because the look he cast at him could not have been taught in any school outside of Metropolis, and only at the superior ones there. Better and better, a bit of city slickness wouldn't hurt him. Girls liked the worn jeans and flannel look, but what they really went gaga over was the idea that the guy could live right next door to them.  
  
His mind whirling, Mark munched on his cigar. Now if he could just fit in a sob story about a childhood sweetheart, preferably one with a tragic past, he'd be cooking with dynamite.  
  
As if answering a cue, Lana appeared. 


	5. Maybe Daydream Number Two Will Come True

Don't worry, this is nearly over. Just two chapters to go I think. Sorry it's rather rough and ready. I'm writing this in a hurry as it won't let me go.  
  
I disclaim. At least one chapter until you understand 'Me and Betsy'.  
  
Segment 5  
  
Clark cursed his voice, his stupidity and Mark. He thought about this for a bit then cursed Lana too. He might as well since it was partly her fault he was stuck in a recording studio instead of out making hay on the farm while Mark the Mad scrutinised his life, voice and body until he was satisfied he was ready to make music. The song he had been singing to Betsy, the one that had really impressed Mark, had made him think of her. That had been why he liked it. He hated it now.  
  
It was amazing how much life could change in two weeks. It wasn't so long ago that he'd been worrying that Chloe would realise just what had happened the last time a meteor freak had attacked her and he'd saved her, that Lana would bar him from the Talon on the grounds of extreme evasion of questioning, that Pete would finally give Lex the smack he felt he so richly deserved, that his parents would stop him from visiting Lex's castle and that the farm would go the way of Pete's Dad's corn factory if his Dad refused Lex's offer of help once again. Even so, it had been a fairly normal kind of worrying, the usual weight of the world on his shoulders stuff. He had even been half bored waiting for the next big thing to happen, knowing it couldn't be far away.  
  
He swore that he would never find boredom dull again.  
  
Now he was worried that Mark would reveal his secret to the whole world and that Lex would find out that the 'mystery voice' on the song he was about to record was his. Not that he minded Lex listening to his singing. He'd always thought his voice was OK, nothing special, fine for car crooning, and he trusted Lex enough not to laugh at him for trying. It was the song's content that was getting him down.  
  
If he ever found out who had written 'Longing for Lana', they would find new meaning in the words 'heated stare'. 


	6. LL Saves the Day Who'd Guess?

This is nearly over, you'll be relieved to hear. The jokes are getting worse too.  
  
I disclaim. Mark's mine but no-one else.  
  
Segment 6  
  
Mark the Mad, against the opinion of every purple prose novelist since the invention of publishing, was not seeing red in his furious rage but blue. Red was what you saw before you went so deep into anger that you began to block the blood vessels supplying your eyelids. Blue was what you saw after. Right before cell death occurred.  
  
He was screaming unrepeatable sentences under his breath. Some fool had let the news of the release of 'Longing for Lana' slip out to the popular press and that little teenage twit, Lois Lane, had twigged what he was doing. She, in her weekly column in the Daily Planet on teen issues ranging from music to murder rates, had written such a brilliant parody of the average modern love ballad, entitling it 'Lois's Longings', that it had made the superhuman farm boy's single release impossible. It would have been laughed out of the charts.  
  
Cursing all reporters everywhere, and nosy teenage ones the most, he bit through his cigar and stomped through the studio. When he found the person responsible for the wreck of his best publicity campaign in years, he would have them envying homeless toilet bowl scrubbers.  
  
Clark settled back happily into his chair. He now loved Lois Lane. He'd read her article so many times that he'd had to buy a second copy of her paper because he'd worn the first through. Actually, he'd bought one for everyone he knew, only he didn't have the guts to explain why he was giving it to them so they were sitting in a pile in his Fortress of Solitude. His singing job was a mystery to everyone including his parents, and he liked it that way.  
  
Then he set about composing his own ode to the muse of parody, knowing if he used that phrase Lex would look disapproving, and grinned at the thought of Mark's reaction. He was about to end his own singing career before it began.  
  
Feeling lighter than he had in days, he didn't even notice he was no longer in but above the chair. 


	7. Laughing Over Spilt Coffee

My muse let me go to bed late last night so I'd nearly finished this. These are the last two parts, I hope.  
  
The Die Hard - Blame the diet coke and insomnia. Mark the Mad is from another story, not fan fiction, but my characters like wandering between worlds so he may be back.  
  
I disclaim. It's times like these I wish I had a video camera and my own TV station.  
  
Segment 7  
  
Lois Lane, Lionel Luthor, Lex Luthor, Lana Lang and Lucy Lane in five different rooms and three different states were all listening to the same song on the same radio station. Four of them were rolling on the ground laughing so hard that two ambulances were called to deal with rib bruising.  
  
Lucy Lane alone stayed soberly upright, cuddling the radio to her chest, muttering words of lust and longing.  
  
Chloe Sullivan, Pete Ross and the elder Kents remained unaware of the latest song release that was storming up the charts, sung with country twang and town stonk. They wouldn't be for long. Already there had been six thousand copies sold and it was only 10a.m. on the first day of its release.  
  
The Talon had been playing it at fifteen minute intervals until the seventeenth coffee cup was broken when someone fell over laughing listening to it and Lana had been forced to turn it off.  
  
At the time, the unknown singer was being screamed at by his manager. The sound stopped abruptly as Diana, the studio manager, stormed in with the news that the song had already outstripped all its rivals and was tipped to be number one.  
  
Mark the Mad was left gasping mid-rant as the woman proceeded to lay the biggest kiss of his life on Clark's lips, explaining afterwards that she'd made a bet at odds of 200-1 that she could get a song about a cow into the top ten a week before. Her bookie was prepared to pay up immediately if she forgot about the number one 500-1 odds sub-clause.  
  
The Lone Cattle Driver just grinned.  
  
The cow that had started all the trouble chewed thoughtfully on her morning silage before settling down to the serious business of eating her lunch twice. Her contribution to the artistic process had been very simple - she'd mooed twice. Her boy, however, had demanded that Betsy be given a share of the profits and a part in the video.  
  
Now she was the only Guernsey cow in the world to have her own Swiss bank account. 


	8. Of Cowslip Kisses and Armani Suits

The last prose part. I don't know where this would go next unless Daisy went water skiing or started doing Dairylea ads, which wouldn't be very funny (though I don't think this was ever that funny).  
  
I swear, just one part to go after this. Maybe. Perhaps. Barring more insomnia. Hmm.  
  
I disclaim. Still don't really want this.  
  
Segment 8  
  
'Me and Betsy' had stuck at the number one spot for three weeks, in the top ten for six more and even now, three months after it fell to number 26, was still lurking in the thirties refusing to go away.  
  
Clark had never confessed to be the singer, had never given a public performance, and had most certainly not given Chloe an interview.  
  
Somehow, however, Lex knew. To his credit, he'd only smirked for four days, raised his eyebrows for two and positively chortled for six hours after he found Clark tying ribbons around Betsy's tail. Betsy, recognising quality when she saw it, had immediately given the millionaire play boy a firm nudge in the ribs. Then she'd licked his scalp with a rough, wet tongue and mooed loudly in his ear.  
  
It had been Clark's turn to laugh as he reassured his friend that these were all marks of her great affection for him. Saliva dripping onto his Armani suit, Lex could only just see the funny side.  
  
Jonathon had not been so forgiving. Betsy, deciding that his high and mighty attitude about what to do with her money, mostly to do with buying a new chicken coop, was just too much for her to handle, had firmly pushed him out of her field and into the drinking trough. The sight of his father, sitting in the trough, glowering fiercely at their prized cow, had been too much for Clark. He'd run half a mile before he let himself laugh.  
  
Between Betsy and Pete's renditions of the 'Me and Betsy' song, the past few weeks had certainly been amusing, but he couldn't be sorry his singing career was coming to an end. He'd made sure of that by a phone call to the one person Mark the Mad was afraid of - another agent, Jenna. She'd muzzled Mark, and the cost had been nominal: the promise that she would be his manager if he ever made another record.  
  
Safe in the knowledge that he'd never require her services again, Clark settled down with Betsy for one last sing-song. 


	9. Me and Betsy Lyricism and Cynicism

It's done. This is the last part unless my muse starts in on the diet coke again. Thanks for coming along for the ride. It's all downhill from here.  
  
K - a Mary-Jane, as I know it, is a fic where a non-canon character is introduced to be one of the main character's love interest. She's usually pretty, finds out the secrets faster than anyone else, doesn't annoy anyone too much and has a tragic past. (Hence Betsy so not being a Mary-Jane by any stretch of the imagination.) If anyone knows a better definition, please tell me.  
  
I still disclaim. I still don't like it.  
  
Segment 9  
  
I want to tell you a story,  
  
And I want you to listen good  
  
It's about what happens to a man  
  
When he trips into love  
  
And tumbles headlong  
  
Falling forever right into  
  
This god-awful song  
  
*******  
  
Young once, I loved a girl  
  
When she was young too  
  
And then she was beautiful  
  
And so I thought, you see  
  
That stars bejewelled her hair  
  
And the sun rose in her eyes  
  
And set on her lashes  
  
And moonbeams danced there  
  
In my utter stupidity  
  
*******  
  
I have a cow called Betsy  
  
Creamy is her milk  
  
Her eyes as wide as marigolds  
  
Her tail as soft as silk  
  
And of all my possessions  
  
I loved my Betsy best  
  
*******  
  
I loved my girl and Betsy  
  
Like a sinner loves his sin  
  
And of the two I couldn't tell  
  
Whom I loved the better  
  
My sweet lady mooned  
  
Over yellow buttercups  
  
While my Betsy made the butter  
  
*******  
  
But though she knew my Betsy  
  
Knew how much milk she'd pour  
  
And though she was my only  
  
And knew I loved her so  
  
She wanted me to take Betsy  
  
And make hamburgers for four  
  
*******  
  
And though I loved her dearly  
  
And though I needed her more  
  
And though I wished for her only  
  
That woman left me poor  
  
*******  
  
But she was so gorgeous  
  
She made my heart pound  
  
And even now as I drink more  
  
I can still hear the sound  
  
Of my heart cracking  
  
As she trod it on the floor  
  
*******  
  
The grass was so green that day  
  
Greener than my best friend's eyes  
  
The sky is grey today  
  
And it won't ever be blue  
  
So give me back my heart, I pray  
  
And I'll give you back your shoes  
  
*******  
  
So now it's just me and Betsy  
  
My faithful milking cow  
  
If you ask me what's the difference,  
  
Between your gorgeous girlfriend  
  
And your favourite Guernsey cow,  
  
I'll tell the truth of love and how  
  
That my girl was my great love  
  
That my Betsy is my friend  
  
And of the two  
  
I'll always choose  
  
The cow that gives creamy milk  
  
Not the cow that moos 


End file.
